


Antique Weapons

by Bebedora



Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: Bonding, Family, Gen, Humor, One Shot, Post-Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 16:11:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/725241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bebedora/pseuds/Bebedora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laguna wants nothing more than to get to know his son a little better. Maybe, just maybe, he will find a common interest. Post-game,One-shot.  (originally posted on ffnet June 22, 2012)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Antique Weapons

Antique Weapons

                “Come on, Laguna.  Don’t be a chicken.  It’s your _SON_ for crying out loud, not a Ruby Dragon,” stated Kiros, bluntly.  “If you don’t call and invite him, _I_ will, and I’ll tell him that you’re afraid of him…and of spiders,” as he grabbed the phone from its cradle.

“No!!” Laguna shrieked, grabbing the handset out of his longtime friend’s hand.  “I’ll do it today, I promise!  Just PLEASE don’t call him!” Laguna pleaded as Kiros relinquished his grip on the phone.

“…”

“Ward says you need to grow a pair.”

And with that the two men started to leave the enormous Presidential Office, only to have Kiros stop and turn around at the door.  “I mean it, Man.  If you don’t call him today…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Spiders,” Laguna interrupted as he shooed them out and then turned to the massive wall of windows.  He looked out over the sprawling city of Esthar, gleaming in the midday sun.

“Why on Earth am I so afraid to call him?  It’s my _SON_ for Hyne’s sake,” He mused to no one in particular.

XxX   XxX   XxX   XxX   XxX  

 

                The phone on his desk rang.  It never stopped ringing.  Thankfully the caller ID system allowed him to ignore the truly annoying calls.  Selphie, for one, would not stop bugging him about the Garden Festival, and how she “just couldn’t bear to miss this year’s festival, so please, Puh-leeeeaze, don’t send me on a mission until it’s over!!”  That call came at least twice a day.

He glanced at the display, willing the phone to spontaneously combust. 

**Private Line—ESTHAR—L. Loire**

Squall grumbled and reluctantly reached for the handset.  He didn’t have the time or the patience for Laguna today.

“Hello, Laguna,” he said, slightly annoyed.

“ _Uh, um, hey Squall.  What’s up?”_

“ _He sounds nervous_ ,” Squall thought to himself.  _“Great.”_

 

“I’m drowning in SeeD requests right now, I really don’t have time to chat,” he said ,bluntly.

 _“Oh, well I won’t_ _keep you.  I just wanted to ask you something, but it can wait.”_

Squall closed his eyes and sighed quietly.  “What is it?” he said, opening his desk drawer and pouring two aspirin out of a small bottle.

_“Uh, well, I just wanted to invite you to Esthar,” he hesitated.  “So we could spend some time together.”_

Squall inwardly groaned.  He could almost see the older man scratching the back of his neck like he did when he was nervous.  He didn’t have time to just steal away to Esthar, and truth be told, he really didn’t want to.  The idea of having “time together” with Laguna wasn’t appealing at all.  He was still trying to get used to his newly-found parentage, and he still had a lot of issues with his Father.

_“Squall?  You still there?”_

The young man snapped out of his thoughts and replied,” I really don’t have time for this.  SeeD entrance exams are coming up, plus everyone and their mother seems to need our services lately.  Maybe some other time.”

_“Come on, Squall,” Laguna pleaded.  He wasn’t going down without a fight.  “Just one weekend. Surely you can swing that.”_

Squall could hear the emotion in the older man’s voice and realized that Laguna wasn’t going to take “no” for an answer and begrudgingly opened up his calendar.  “I can come in two weeks.  Just for the weekend,” he emphasized.

_“Great!!  We can hang out!  I’ll give you the Presidential Grand Tour of Esthar!”_

The young man was instantly starting to regret his decision.  He didn’t know if he could survive a whole weekend with Laguna Loire.

XxX   XxX   XxX   XxX   XxX  

                Laguna knew Squall would be there at 8:15 am sharp.  He looked at the clock on the wall.  It read 8:09.  He took a sip of his coffee and decided a little TV would help his nerves.  He knew his son was coming over soon, and yet he couldn’t help but become ensnared in the brightly colored cartoon show flickering on his wall-sized television. 

Soon, he was totally engrossed, and didn’t even hear the doorbell ring.  He didn’t hear it ring the second and third times, either.  Laguna was snapped out of his cartoon reverie by loud banging on his front door.  “Damn, just when it was starting to get good,” he mumbled as he shuffled over to the door.

He was greeted by an annoyed Squall.  “What took you so long?” the young man grumbled.

“Good morning to you, too.  Come on in!  You want some coffee?” Laguna asked as he ushered his son in.

“Thanks.”  Squall followed the older man in and immediately heard the telltale sounds of a children’s cartoon show.

“Trabian Titans?” Squall asked, arching an eyebrow.  “Looks like Selphie and you share a common interest.  Aren’t you a little old for this kind of show?”

“Hey, don’t knock it!  It actually has good moral and educational messages!” Laguna chided.  “Coffee’s in the kitchen, if you  want some.”

“Yeah, good messages if you’re three years old,” Squall retorted, rolling his eyes and disappearing into the kitchen.

Laguna settled back into his comfy chair and reluctantly turned off the cartoons, and waited for his son to return.  He had so many questions about him.  He hoped he would be open about himself.

Squall soon returned and Laguna motioned for him to sit on a couch across the small table from himself.  The young Commander eyed his Father suspiciously for a moment and the finally broke the ice.

“So, what was so important that you wanted me here this early in the morning?  I always imagined you to be the kind that slept until noon on weekends.”

Laguna nervously scratched the back of his neck and replied, “Ah, well, I just wanted to talk to you. You know, father/son stuff.”

Squall snorted and replied, “If you’re planning on giving me “the talk,” you can save your breath.  I already know where babies come from.”

“No!  Not that!” Laguna blushed.  “I just wanted to talk to you about you.  I still don’t know a whole lot about you, other than official Garden stuff and Selphie’s website” he added with a slight smile.

“Well, you definitely can’t believe anything that website says, because according to “sources” I like to dress in moogle costumes and put on plays for schoolchildren in Balamb Town.”

Laguna snorted and replied, “Tell me about it.  Apparently I like to spend my spare time knitting socks.”

Squall laughed ever so slightly and settled back into the plush couch, put his feet up on the table and sighed, “OK, so what do you want to know?” surprising himself quite a bit with his new-found openness.

Laguna was also surprised by his willingness to talk, not expecting Squall to actually open up without more serious prodding.

“Uhhh…” Laguna hesitated, embarrassed.  “What’s your favorite color?”

Squall raised an eyebrow, “My favorite color?  This is the pressing information you wanted to know about me?”

Laguna whined, “Come on!  I wanna know dumb stuff about you! Silly stuff!  Stuff fathers know about their sons.  Favorite foods, music, movies, books…” Laguna babbled until he was cut off by Squall holding up his hand.

“You really want to know this stuff?” Squall asked, not understanding why on Earth Laguna would care about his favorite color.

“Yeah,” Laguna replied, sheepishly, looking down at his feet.  “I really do.”

“Ok,” Squall sighed, seeing his Father’s yearning to get to know him better. 

Laguna spent the next fifteen minutes pelting the young man with questions, intently listening to every answer, drinking in every detail, no matter how insignificant it may have seemed to his son.  Laguna cherished every second.  He learned that his son hated carrots, liked to go swimming and biking, loved violent action movies and could juggle.  And of course, his favorite color was black, not surprisingly.  Laguna kept pummeling him with questions and Squall dutifully answered every one, realizing how much it meant to his Father. 

“Allergic to anything?”        “Shellfish.  Pretty bad, too.”

“Ever been shot?”                “Yeah, twice.”

“What do you like to read?”                 “Centran History.”

“Tattoos?”                                 “A few, Zell knows a good artist.”

“How’d you get your scar?”                  “From an asshole that fought dirty.”

“Musically inclined?”                 “Not really.”

Laguna was so happy, but also disappointed.  They had almost nothing in common, except, it seems, for getting shot.

The next question came hesitantly, as if Laguna almost didn’t want to hear an answer he didn’t like.

“You collect anything?”

Squall smiled so slightly that Laguna almost missed it.

“Uhhh, yeah.  I collect antique weapons,” he replied, almost with a shy tone to his voice.

Laguna internally beamed.  _“Finally,” he thought to himself.  “Something we can share.”_

“Oh?” Laguna asked, trying to hide his total elation.  “What kind?”

The young Commander sat up from his lounging position on the couch to place his now empty mug on the table.  “Well,” he exhaled.  “It’s not much; I’ve only been doing it three or four years.”

The two men sat for the next ten minutes or so, Squall describing his collection, which turned out to be quite impressive.  Swords, blades, Centran battle axes, a few guns and an array of thrown weapons.  He even had a rather old gunblade, thought it wasn’t an original model.  His collection had become big enough that before he was given an office, where the weapons were now housed, he actually had to store them off-site.  Some he had salvaged and painstakingly restored in his free time, others were purchased during his travels for SeeD.

Finally, Laguna couldn’t contain himself anymore.  “Wanna see something cool?” he blurted out, interrupting Squall in mid-sentence.  He jumped from his seat and motioned for Squall to follow.

“Sure, I guess,” he replied, getting up and stretching his arms. 

They walked into Laguna’s den where Squall spotted an old Galbadian assault rifle hanging on the wall.  He guessed it was about twenty or twenty-five years old.  It had obviously seen a lot of action and was in pretty rough shape.

“Yours?” Squall gestured towards the relic.

“Oh yeah!  That puppy saved my life more times than I’d like to remember!  But that’s not what I wanted to show you.”

Laguna approached the gun and pressed a key code into a small, barely visible panel.  Instantly, the wall became recessed and swung inward, revealing another room.

“Secret rooms, eh?  Not bad,” Squall wondered aloud.

Laguna smirked and motioned for him to follow once more.

As they crossed the threshold, the soft lights in the room switched on automatically, revealing the largest weapons collection Squall had ever seen.

“Whoa,” he breathed aloud in awe, causing Laguna to smirk again.

The walls were lined with cubby holes and shelves, crammed full with every weapon your heart could ever desire.  Shumi throwing weapons, Centran battle axes, every variety of old grenade, guns, swords, nunchaku and whips, and even hand-to-hand accessories.  Some were in pristine shape, while others were rusting into oblivion.

Laguna couldn’t help but smile as he watched his son take everything in.  He was waiting, though.  Waiting for him to spot **_it._**

All of a sudden, Squall sharply sucked in his breath and Laguna knew what he had seen.

 

In the center of a side wall, cradled in a large, brightly lit recess, seemingly defying the laws of gravity by just hovering there, was an original Revolver-model Gunblade.  It was definitely old, and had been greatly used, as the blade was nicked and scratched.

“Wow,” Squall exhaled, almost at a complete loss for words.  “Is this an original?”

“Yup.  It’s over one-hundred years old, too.  Belonged to the inventor’s son.  He used it in some pretty hairy situations, according to the dealer I bought it from,” Laguna answered, full of pride.

“Wanna hold it?” Laguna asked his son, with a playful glint in his eye.

“I’d love to,” the young man replied, almost reverently.

Laguna took the weapon off of two previously invisible brackets and handed it to Squall, whose eyes were practically glowing.

The weapon was heavy in his hands, heavier than his own Revolver model.  He moved back a good safe distance from Laguna in order to give it a good swing in front of him.  It sliced through the air with a telltale “Whoosh.”  He intensified his routine, going through several increasingly difficult battle maneuvers and tactics. 

Laguna marveled at the talent of his son.  He truly had mastered the seemingly un-masterable weapon, and handled it with true grace, almost dancing through his moves.  “ _He was born to be_ a _warrior,” Laguna thought._ He felt his face begin to flush with pride and his eyes began to well up ever so slightly.

Squall abruptly stopped his maneuvers and looked to Laguna, whose eyes seemed a bit misty.  The young SeeD noticed a single tear roll down his cheek.

“Laguna, you ok?” Squall shyly asked, approaching the man.  He was certainly not used to people being emotional, and usually didn’t care if they were anyhow.

“Yeah,” he said, wiping the lone tear away.  “I was just thinking, we have something in common.  I was starting to think we wouldn’t.  I’m just glad.”

Squall smiled slightly and whispered, almost too quiet for his Father to hear, “Me too, Dad.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was the first Final Fantasy VIII fanfic I ever wrote and posted on ffnet!


End file.
